Gone, But Never Forgotten

I haven’t written in a while, since my last blog was written a few weeks prior to my son’s premature birth.  I’ve been wrapped up with fatherhood and work.  I have several blogs in-progress, but haven’t had much of chance to work on them.

 However, this past month, my Dad passed away from complications of pneumonia.  He was 56, much too young.  It was a shock to the family, him being so young.  I don’t want to dwell on it in, but rather on the good memories we shared. 

 

I’ve mentioned previously a few stories of my Dad when I was young (see What Got Me Into Cars) and us turning wrenches.  Up until I was about in my late 20’s, I was mostly in the learning phase.  I gained a lot of confidence upon completing my Mechanical Engineering degree.   I lost most of my inhibitions when trying to tackle a car problem.  I took all of what my Dad taught me and ran with it.  I researched myself and dove in.  Most of the time I succeeded on my own, but more often than not, my Dad helped me out of a jam, or just wanted to spend some time together. 

I have many fond memories as a kid, helping out in the garage.  I usually got yelled at and sent into the house crying for misbehaving.  But, that never discouraged me from coming back for more.  Eventually I kept my mouth shut and ears open and learned as much as I could.

 

 As a teenager and into my early twenties, I matured and focused on working and learning with my Dad.  I picked up a few habits, like cussing and throwing shit.  One of the funniest stories was when my Dad tried to grab a bottle of polishing compound and it slipped from his fingers, falling to the ground and breaking the cap, spilling wax all over the floor.  My Dad yelled out, “Goddamned pussy wax!”   After a few seconds of silence, we both started to laugh under our breaths. 

As I got my first tool chest for my 16^th birthday (a Craftsman rolling lower cabinet), I started to buy my own tools.  Never mind the fact that my Dad had a set he would let me borrow, I wanted my own!  We would go at least once a week to Sears, Lowes, etc. to look at and buy tools.  It was a sort of arms race.  If we found a set of special wrenches on sale, we both bought our own sets.  If one of us found a deal on tools, we would call each other to see if one wanted a set.  I sure am going to miss those random calls and texts of some tool deal my Dad found. 

 

When I bought my house and outfitted my own shop, my Dad and I would usually be in the shop while the girls were inside yakking away.  We just sat, had beers, smoked cigars and talked about cars and bikes.   In the last five years I’ve acquired a fair bit of my own wrenching experience and enjoyed working with my Dad not as a master/apprentice, but as two partners.   We talked often of starting a shop, building classic trucks. 

 The last major job we did together was a cylinder head swap on my ’05 Colorado.  We spent a good part of the summer of 2013 hitting it every weekend.  My Dad let me take the lead, while he only helped.  He pretty much told me, “It’s your garage, I’m here to help.  You tell me what to do.”  At the time, I didn’t think about it, but now that I do, he wanted to confirm his creation.  All of the years of grooming now led to this.  I think I held my own well.  We completed it with no disagreements.  We ran into a major roadblock, but he convinced me to finish it up and persevere.  The very last portion of the job involved recharging my air conditioning system.  I had learned how to from my Dad’s coworker when I swapped the compressor on my wife’s car.  I bought my own vacuum pump and manifold set.  Now, here I was, teaching my Dad something.  A strange feeling, indeed.

With my son now almost two years old, I see many things coming full circle.  I remember riding in my Dad’s truck as a little kid, listening to good music and singing along and being happy.  A few weeks ago, I was driving my truck and my son was in the back, singing along (in his best two-year old babble) with me to some Rockabilly, with a giant smile on his face.  I couldn’t help crying, thereby putting an immediate damper on my impromptu karaoke session in my truck. 

Now that my son is running around climbing on shit and getting into everything, he likes to run around my shop grabbing stuff.  He particularly likes to grab the chrome on my Harley and to poke into the saddlebags.  I sat him on one of my shop stools and he proceeded to grab every tool in my service cart and play with it.  He also grabbed my DVOM and tried to play it like a game.  The same exact shit I used to do at his age.  I know this stuff is in our blood.  I know he’ll be a gearhead just like his daddy and grandpa is.  The only problem is that I will have to fill the shoes of grandpa, which I know I never can.  I don’t have the wisdom acquired that only grandparents have.  I sure as hell can tell him all of the good funny stories that daddy and grandpa shared.  

In closing, I’m glad I had the privilege to learn and immerse myself in our world of turning wrenches.  I took it a step further with the greasiness, which I hope my son follows.   I will spend every damn moment I can with my son in the garage teaching him our craft, and letting him experience our world of hot rods, Harleys, beer and greasiness.   I know my Dad will be proud and will be smiling from above seeing his grandson turn his first wrenches, getting his hands dirty, losing tools, using a screwdriver as a chisel, arcing a Matco wrench on the battery, breaking in a cam with no coolant in the engine, getting oil stains on the driveway and all of the other stupid crap we do as we learn.   Dad, we will keep our craft alive through the generations.

 R.I.P Javier Gomez Arias

1959-2016

“Gone, but never forgotten”